


Tea For One

by orphan_account



Category: Led Zeppelin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Fluff, M/M, and semi-crack, honestly idk where this story came from, my brain just vomited words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 09:27:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11437962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Cock-juggling catastro-fuckers.”“You can say that again.”a.k.a. FINALLY a Coffee Shop AU for the Zeppelin fandom (because it is the most basic of basic AU's omfg)





	Tea For One

**Author's Note:**

> this is actually my first fic ever and i'm a little nervous for my first word-baby PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK OF IT
> 
> oh, and the boys aren't mine. couldn't buy them if i tried (and boy, do i want to try)

 

Jimmy’s socks are wet.

 

“ _Mother fucking cock-juggling catastro-fuckers_ ,” he only barely contains to a vehement whisper. The day began well enough – Jimmy stayed behind a bit in his meager office cubicle after his final class to go over, for the hundredth time, the materials necessary for the following day’s activity. He hadn’t been overly excited about the incoming frog dissection; it would be his third since graduating from university. There was, however, always a spark of warmth that blooms in his birdcage chest when he hears the pealing laughter and squeals of his students around rows of chloroformed amphibians. Finally appeased with the next day’s plans, he began his regular walk home, his mind whizzing with ideas. That was fifteen minutes ago, though. Now his grey suit hangs heavily over his trembling frame, and due to a conveniently placed rain puddle, his socks are soaking wet.

 

Jimmy looks pointedly at the higher beings in the night sky,

 

“ _Catastro-fuckers_.”

  

* * *

 

 

Jimmy didn’t pay much mind to which shop he entered; his full focus was on aggressive cursing as he ran with the rain and his long, stringy hair in his eyes. _I should probably get bangs,_ his brain supplied mid-curse. Had he been paying better attention he would have noticed the “Closed” sign on the door, or that the tables and chairs have been cleaned out and turned up. Or the giant blond staring at him in half-surprise and half-concern.

 

Jimmy was in the middle of shaking one sodden shoe off when a light voice broke his enraged reverie,

 

“Um, excuse me? The shop is closing up, sir.”

 

That made him look – he twisted around, surprised that he was alone save for another man. Now, Jimmy _was_ vaguely aware that he still had a shoe inelegantly held up in one hand like an idiot, but all reminders of basic propriety took a backseat when he saw the lean, tall, supermodel _in an apron_ in front of him. _What the fuck_.

 

The Supermodel looked at him expectantly, perhaps waiting for Jimmy to sod right off, but all Jimmy could focus on was how very, very blue the other man’s eyes were. Quite eloquently, all while still gaping, all he managed was, “Oh um, er, uh… what shop is doing what now?”

 

The blond chuckled at the bewildered man. _Poor thing,_ he mused; _must be disoriented from running through the storm._ “This shop, sir. The Hobbestweedle Café. It’s just about closing time, but oh – you’re trembling. Wait just a tic –“ the Supermodel hoisted a chair upright again from a nearby table, and after a flurry of quick movements around the shop that Jimmy couldn’t follow, he was deposited onto a cushioned chair with a steaming mug of something between his hands. Huh.

 

“Hot Oolong lemon milk tea! It’s on the house.” The blond – Robert, his mind supplied when he gained sense to look at the man’s nametag – declared with a dazzling toothy grin. “Perfect for warming up, and it’s my specialty, or so the happy customers say.” Jimmy took a few sips, distracted by the warmth of Robert’s sunny smile before he realized what he’d said.

 

_Cock-juggling catastro-fuckers._ Jimmy continued drinking, though, at least to not appear ungrateful, he reasoned to himself. In the back of his mind he knew, though: he drank to the very last drop of the tea, just to keep his new acquaintance smiling.

 

* * *

 

 

He had absolutely no good reason to, but Jimmy finds himself stopping by the coffee shop every morning. Hobbestweedle, _what the fuck kind of name is that_ , is a few blocks off his regular trek to the high school, effectively making him a little later than he already usually is. Jimmy, stubborn and emotionally constipated as he is, tells himself that he only wanted to spice his life up by going off route a little more often. And so what if he left the coffee shop every morning with a renewed skip to both his step and heartbeat. So what.

 

He tried to order other things; to his credit he really did try, but this plan was forever thwarted right on his first intentional visit after the fateful stormy night.

 

“Fancy seeing you at a reasonable hour!” Robert greets him in jest as he reached the front of the line to the counter, but without malice. Jimmy doubts any trace of evil could even touch the golden boy with a fifty-foot pole. Satan himself would probably combust from Robert’s relentlessly sunshiny disposition.

 

“The, uh, drink last night was pretty good.” Robert’s face in proper daylight, with the sun bouncing off the loose strands of his blond curls, was such a stunning sight that he only realized the words he’d rambled after a few seconds, and it was too late since Robert’s answering smile looked so damn grateful he couldn’t possibly backtrack now.

 

“You really think so, uh – oh bollocks, I never even got your name – “

“Jimmy. Jimmy Page,” he brushed Robert’s chagrin off, “and uh, yes, absolutely. You’ve got quite a talent there.” and Jimmy wasn’t lying; the drink tasted phenomenal. His chilled body was instantly soothed, and his taste buds sang at every gulp. His stomach sure as hell didn’t, though.

 

Robert scribbled down on Jimmy’s takeaway cup after a quick brew, his tongue stuck out a little in concentration. _Adorable motherfucker_ , Jimmy thought as his mind irrevocably began planning that, yup, Hobbestweedle could be a part of his schedule now. Later on his way out, when he sees the Sharpie’d scribble of, “For Jimmy! Who deserves a sunshiny day after the storm!” with a drawing of a happy little sun, he decides that it would _definitely_ be part of his schedule now.

So the new pit stop delayed his morning journey enough that he’d end up in a sweat after speedwalking to school. Every morning he was constantly accosted with food and conversation, both of which Jimmy was not excellent company for, by another new friend from the shop – Bonzo, co-owner and resident baker, who was a roaring rhinoceros of a man but was as delicate with his pastries as the doilies he placed them on. Jimmy was faced a few new inconveniences because of his detour to the coffee shop.

 

A few weeks into his new routine, however, Jimmy begins to find comfort in the hodge podge interiors of the little shop, the jingling bell as he steps through front door, and the _something_ that courses through his heart when Robert looks up from whatever he’s doing just to smile at Jimmy.

 

* * *

  

“Stop preening.”

                

Robert pauses in his hair primping to stare at Bonzo through the glass casing of Hobbestweedle’s delicacies, offended by the insinuation that there is ever an end to Robert Plant’s preening. Bonzo rolls his eyes at his best mate’s twinkish sensibilities. “Jim’s not going to give a crap. He already thinks the sun shines out your asshole, asshole.”

 

Robert stammers like a fish out of water; “Jimmy’s not – he – who said I was doing this for him?” He’s not hysterical. He isn’t. Bonzo just arches an eyebrow condemningly – _who knew an eyebrow could hold so much judgment –_ before slinking away to roll out the day’s cinnamon buns. Robert huffs and turns back to his reflection, adjusting his apron over his tight, white floral top; there isn’t anything different with that particular day. Jimmy’s been coming around for over a month or so, so it wasn’t as if his morning stop was new. It was a Thursday, too, and historically nothing ever happens on Thursdays.

 

He’s just. Well. Who wouldn’t be a little nervous mere minutes before seeing someone they’ve got a monumental crush on? Especially if said crush was a delightfully grumpy, stuffy, intelligent, angel-faced young man. Whom, through the past few weeks, Robert had learned was also a Biology teacher; Jimmy pretends he couldn’t care less for his job, but in between the man’s stories Robert could see Jimmy’s deep love for both the subject he teaches and the children. How unfairly adorable. Robert could just fuck him over the counter.

 

Robert could also get whiplash from his now-automatic response to look at the door when the bell jingles. It’s a bit of a problem. When it rings at 7am, Robert perks up like a dog watching his master come home. His proverbial tail would have continued wagging at the sight of Jimmy, as usual, if not for the unfamiliar man Jimmy has in tow. Robert’s heart slowly deflates like a sad, sad flaccid thing. He wants to shrink into himself suddenly; wants to run to Bonzo for a hug, but he suddenly hasn’t the time as Jimmy approaches the counter.

 

“You alright, sunshine?” Had it been any other day, Robert would have melted right into his shoes at the endearment from Jimmy, but he concludes it’s completely platonic, what with New Boy With A Bowl Cut In A Police Uniform. If he hadn’t had so much respect for living things he would have started a cat fight right there, acrylic nails and all.

 

“Just peachy. Who’s this?” Robert didn’t mean to sound as terse and confrontational as he did, and he was instantly sorry. He was just about to remedy what he’d said when Bonzo popped his mustachioed face out from the kitchen door, bellowing, “Ho ho, mates! Who’s Bowl Cut over here?” Robert instantly felt better then about his wording.

  

“John Paul, but please, call me Jonesy. I’m Jimmy’s best friend, and let me guess – tall, tanned, and golden – you must be Robert. This idiot hasn’t shut up about you, I swear.” Robert didn’t catch the way a flame-faced Jimmy slugged the arm of the unfazed officer because his heart re-lodged itself back into his chest at the words, “best friend.”

 

“Oh – oh! It’s a pleasure to meet you. What’ll you two have today?”

“I think I’d have a green tea frappuccino, and a half dozen glazed doughnuts to go. What about you, Jim?”

“I’ve got a regular order here, Jones,” Jimmy turns a warm smile to Robert, “my lemon oolong milk tea, please.” The two share private smiles for a second, unaware of an incredulous Jonesy staring right at Jimmy.

 

“What the fuck, Jim, are you a fucking idiot? If you’ve been having milk tea on the regular I’m taking you straight to your doctor, fucking hell your mom’s going to kill – “

 

Robert feels like ice was poured down his back. _Doctor?_ His eyes flash between Jonesy and Jimmy’s faces. He stammers out, “wh-what do you mean? What’s going on, Jimmy?” the same time Bonzo shouts, “WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT.”

 

Jimmy smacks his head on the counter with a groan, Robert looks like he’s about to cry, Bonzo’s still shouting, and Jonesy picks up on whatever the hell’s going on, and he begins to laugh, earning the attention of the other men.

 

“James Patrick Page, did you seriously suffer through all that just to have an excuse to see your boyfriend?” Jonesy could laugh at his clusterfuck of a best friend all damn day. A responding chorus of,

“HE’S NOT MY BOYFRIEND,”

“I still don’t understand,”

and, “WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT,” resound in unison. Jonesy, disappointed at the idiocy around him, clarifies,

 

“Jimmy’s lactose intolerant. Let that sink in a bit,” cue, complete, stock-still silence.

 

After a full minute, Bonzo breaks the quiet with howling laughter. Robert, finally recovered from the news, ignores the still-laughing baker, and faces Jimmy, whose beet-red face is in his slim hands.

 

“Jimmy, why’d you do it? There are loads of other drinks on the menu. You could have said something. I never wanted to endanger your health – “

 

“No, no, it isn’t your fault at all,” Jimmy inhales and clasps his trembling hands behind him, though still unable to look Robert in the eyes. “You just – I saw how happy you looked when I said I liked the drink – which I did! Still do, I mean – and, well,” no turning back now, “I didn’t want you to stop smiling at me.” In the silence that ensued, Jimmy wanted to simultaneously beat the crap out of the much stronger Jonesy for outing his secret and for death to conveniently sweep him away right the fuck now. He looked steadfastly at his shoes, not wanting to see the pity in Robert’s eyes. Before his mind could catch up with what was happening, though, footsteps stopped right beside him, and suddenly, his chin was being pulled up to face Robert’s gorgeous face. Jimmy’s mind just went _what._

 

“You utterly ridiculous boy,” and, _gee, thanks,_ “You,” Robert made rapid, vague gestures at Jimmy’s person, “make me smile. Just your presence, you dummy. I don’t care if you hanged around all day, bumming off my time without ordering a single thing. I would have given you all my time, and gladly.” Robert is smiling at him then with so much affection that there’s a hot pang in his heart, and just _what the fuck what._ Jimmy was helpless to the great urge to kiss Robert, and so he did, because after all those stomach aches he has totally, _totally_ earned this.

 

The kiss wasn’t at all gentle, but it was slow and deep; each second of soft friction between their lips was savored, and it bloomed hot wherever their skin _finally_ met: Jimmy’s fingers in Robert’s hair, their torsos pressing lightly on each other, and Robert’s fingers rubbing slowly at Jimmy’s sides. When the tongues started at it, though, Bonzo had to break it up with twin smacks of his sweat towel on both their asses.

 

“This is a family-friendly establishment, you randy buggers. You can take the day off, Robert and do all your… celebrating, as long as you don’t do it here. I can manage.”

 

“Yeah, and I could drop by the school to tell them you’re calling in sick. Your kids could take a break from your nerdy yapping, anyway,” Jonesy pipes up.

 

The two didn’t need to be told twice. Robert pulls off his apron and gets cuffed in the head by a laughing Bonzo before coming back to sling an arm around his crush’ – no, _boyfriend_ ’s slim hips and Jimmy presses a warm kiss to his jaw as they both start out the jingling door, leaving their exasperated best friends shaking their heads after them.

 

“Cock-juggling catastro-fuckers.”

 

“You can say that again.”

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
